


a sorrow halved

by melonbutterfly



Series: That First Year [12]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik finally tells Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a sorrow halved

It's a quiet Monday for Charles; Cain, Raven and their mother are all out running various errands, so he has the house for himself, soon to be shared with Erik when he comes over. This hasn't exactly been planned – not by Charles and certainly not by his family; Erik had been away for less than five days, after all, and while they did miss each other, it's not all that dramatic. In the grand scheme of things it's hardly any time at all, so Charles is a little confused when Erik hugs him very tightly the moment Charles opens the door for him. Charles hugs back, of course, and mentally tries to recount their conversations on the phone, brief but frequent, but of course he can't remember anything having been out of order. If it had been, he would have noticed at the time already, he knows this.

A little later, the two of them are settling in the living room, cups of tea on the table and Erik's laptop powering up. Erik is trying really hard to act like everything is normal, but there's something off about him – his movements are jittery, and he's oddly deliberate when he takes his cup of tea and takes a sip. For some reason, his eyes can't seem to stay on Charles, glide off him like oil, and it worries Charles. Just when he's about to cut off the small talk – Erik had asked how he'd been fairing, even though they had talked on the phone every evening since the Thursday the Lehnsherrs' left – Erik suddenly straightens. He puts his tea away and pulls his laptop into his lap, and the glance he sends Charles then is familiar to him – it's the one he uses when he means for Charles to come closer.

Relieved and not really knowing why, Charles shifts closer until Erik leans back and very unsubtly puts his arm on the backrest. It's really not at all smooth, but who needs smoothness anyway; Charles bridges the rest of the space between them and curls into Erik's side. Briefly, he wonders if he'll ever get the growth spurt his mum has been promising him for the past two years; on the one hand, he really wants to be a bit taller, but on the other, if he were that'd mean he wouldn't slot together so perfectly with Erik's somewhat lanky body anymore.

Then Erik distracts him by pulling up the folder with the photos they made on Thursday, starting with the car ride into New York City. There are a couple of pictures of them checking into their hotel, and Erik explains to a bemused Charles that Wanda had gone a little nuts with the camera. "She insisted on taking pictures of anything," he says. Charles can't help but find that cute, probably also because Erik apparently was Wanda's favorite subject. Not surprising; he's her older brother and she practically hero-worships him.

There are a few sight-seeing pictures next, various Lehnsherrs in various combinations in front of sleek buildings and statues and other things, and then what appears to be breakfast of the next day. Charles is slightly confused, because it feels like there's something missing of the previous day – dinner, for example – but he doesn't dwell on it for long, for there's more sightseeing photos. Erik and Wanda have taken to making ridiculous faces in as many photos as they can, which is entirely adorable, though Charles refrains from using that exact word; Erik wouldn't appreciate it.

Then the photos skip the whole of Saturday and what appears like the brunt of Sunday, because the next photos are of the drive back on Sunday evening. Erik's body is tense now, and that's why Charles doesn't say anything for a moment, just curls closer into him. He expects Erik to explain whatever is going on, but it doesn't happen, so eventually Charles turns a little and wraps one arm around Erik's chest, sits up a little so he can look Erik in the face. Erik doesn't react, avoids his eyes, even when Charles leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Tell me," Charles says quietly. It's not an order, not really, but even so he wants to amend, to add a "if you want to" or something similar so Erik truly knows that he doesn't have to tell Charles anything if he doesn't feel ready. Erik knows that, though, and Charles is well-aware that if Erik didn't want to tell him, Charles would barely be aware that there's anything going on at all. Now that he thinks about it he realizes that Erik had been like this before – the expression, the way he holds his body, the deliberateness in his gestures and how closed off his thoughts are. He hadn't noticed, and that more than anything tells him that Erik is well-aware of his choice, of the fact that there is no compulsion to tell Charles. He wouldn't ever have to bring it up, but it's clear he wants to – it just appears to be incredibly difficult.

"You sort of know already," Erik says quietly. "You just haven't put the pieces together yet." This confuses Charles incredibly, but he keeps silent, lets Erik set his own pace, find the words. Finally, Erik's tongue flicks out, moistens his lips, and he says, "You told me about it. Do you remember? What you're working on in current history right now."

"Genosha?", Charles says quietly. It's their current topic, and he suddenly remembers that Erik's independent study project had started the same time they had started in on that. He's on the cusp of grasping it, is already starting to suspect – but no, it can't be that.

"Yes." Erik's arm around him tightens suddenly, and Erik leans their foreheads together. The position is somewhat awkward because Erik still has his laptop on his knees but Charles doesn't care.

"You told me about the… conference this week-end," Erik says. His voice is quiet and brittle somehow, and it scares Charles. "In New York. For survivors and family members, as remembrance, and for them to be informed of what has been done since then."

"No," Charles says. He had told Erik about it, because their teacher had told them about it, and Charles is weirdly emotionally invested in this topic, had been even before they had been shown the documentary of the liberation. But Erik can't be telling him what Charles thinks he's telling him.

But Erik is unrelenting. "You never asked about the wristband," he says, and it seems off-topic and innocuous, but it's really, really not.

"No," Charles says again, voice hoarse. Erik lifts his left arm, and the metal band around his wrist is melting away, and Charles doesn't want to see it, he doesn't, but he turns his head away a moment too late.

There's a barcode tattooed into the inside of Erik's wrist, and the afterimage of it is branded into Charles eyelids even as he closes his eyes to it, curls away, buries his face in Erik's chest. "No," he says, but it comes out as a sob.

A barcode to identify each specimen efficiently and without error, that's what the books quoted from original texts as reason to brand humans like cattle.

*

Erik feels incredibly calm.

Charles is straddling his lap, face pressed into his chest, and he's crying like the world is collapsing around him. Erik has wrapped his arms around him and is trying to soothe him, which isn't really working so far. It's not too difficult not to get swept away in Charles' emotions.

He hadn't expected that; he had thought he would be distressed, would maybe hyperventilate or even have a flashback as he still sometimes does, but weirdly, he feels perfectly calm while Charles breaks apart in his arms. He's neither numb nor detached in any way, isn't in shock; he knows what that's like, and this isn't it. He's sad with Charles, worried because Charles seems incapable of calming down or letting go of him, but still, he remains calm. No freaking out.

This isn't how this was supposed to go; he doesn't know what he wanted it to go like (mostly because he had tried not to imagine it), but he hadn't wanted for Charles to be this distraught. Briefly he wonders if it would've been easier on Charles if he had told him earlier, perhaps as soon as they met, but he hadn't known Charles very well then, and he hadn't been ready for anyone to know. At his old school everyone had known and he had hated it; he had always carried it around with him like a label, and he had wanted away from that. He doesn't want it to be the first thing people thought about when they met him; he doesn't want them to look at him and know. He didn't need to be a telepath to read the pity in their eyes, and after a while it had made him paranoid. He would have grit his teeth and dealt with it if his parents hadn't been planning to move anyway, but since they had, he had simply decided that his next school was going to be different; nobody would know unless he wanted them to.

Honestly, he's been surprised it stayed secret this long, because with hundreds of teenagers it's near impossible to keep a secret, but the school has held true on their promise to keep it strictly confidential, that it would be Erik's decision alone if anyone found out.

He is grateful for that, even now, even knowing it might have spared Charles this much distress if he had known from the beginning.

It takes Charles twenty minutes to stop sobbing, but he doesn't stop shaking. At times, Erik had honestly worried whether he was hyperventilating as well, but Charles hadn't passed out, and Erik's soothing touches and murmuring seem to have done some good, because eventually all that is left is the shaking.

"Charles," Erik murmurs. "You need to drink something." Their tea has long since gone cold, but there's a bottle of water on the table as well, and Charles needs to get some fluids into him.

But Charles shakes his head and holds on tighter; his fingers are curled so tight in Erik's shirt that it has to hurt. Charles' face is pressed into Erik's chest, and his shirt is a mess. He basically counts it as a loss by this point; only the washing machine will be able to save it anymore.

"Come on, Charles," Erik coaxes, nuzzling the side of Charles' head. One of his hands his buried in Charles' hair, and it tickles against his wrist; the one that's usual covered. He isn't used to touch there, has worn the metal band since the liberation – it's made of metal coins the soldiers who freed them gave him for reasons he doesn't know. He knows every single one of them by heart and if need be, he could break the band apart into the coins again with every molecule going back exactly to where it had come from.

Charles takes a shuddering breath, but he finally, if hesitantly, lifts his head from Erik's chest. His hands refuse to let go of his shirt, however, so it's not much help.

Charles is a mess. His face is red and wet and swollen, especially his eyes, and he looks like his worst nightmare just came true – and who knows, maybe it did. Erik bites his lip and frames Charles' face with both hands, leans in to gently kiss him on the forehead. He's not really sure what to say – hadn't been this whole time while he tried to calm Charles down. The normal soothing nonsense hadn't been an option, because it's not okay, it's not alright, not for Erik and certainly not for Charles; saying it would have been a mockery. So he had mostly resorted to murmuring his boyfriend's name and making shushing noises, hoping that Charles knew he wasn't telling him to be quiet, to suppress his feelings.

"Please, love, drink something. Your head must be pounding," Erik finally murmurs when he pulls back, letting his hands slide down to Charles' shoulders. Charles sniffles and nods, slowly, deliberately uncurling his fingers from Erik's shirt. He rubs at his eyes and then at his face, taking a deep, shaky breath before finally meeting Erik's eyes. "I'm sorry," he says shakily.

Erik's eyes widen. "No!" he says immediately, and again, more softly, "No. Don't apologize, _please_." He cups Charles' face again and rubs his thumbs over his cheeks. "There's nothing for you to apologize for." 

"I know, I just…" Charles rubs his eye and sniffs again. "It was just so bad, worse than I can ever understand, and the thought that you were there…" He ducks his head, and Erik has to pull him in again, wrap his arms around Charles' shoulders and hold him while he sniffles.

It's pretty horrible, Charles falling apart like that; Erik had thought it had been bad after the documentary, but this is way worse, and Erik can't help but feel guilty, like it's his fault somehow. If he had handled it differently, better – if he had told Charles earlier, or maybe later – maybe it wouldn't be so terrible for Charles right now. He should have waited a couple of months, when the facts Charles is being taught in current history class right now aren't so fresh anymore.

"Charles," Erik says quietly, putting his hand again on the back of Charles' head, running his fingers through his hair soothingly. "It was bad, yes." He tightens his grip on Charles' body when his boyfriend shudders. "But it's over. It's been over for three years. I'm okay now."

Charles just sniffles, and Erik rubs his hand up and down his back. "I'm not saying it's fine. It'll never be fine. But I'm okay now. I really am." He's not good, he still has flashbacks and bad episodes, but he's okay – he put these things to rest. There are some things he did he might never be able to tell Charles about for fear he won't understand, but he considers it finished and over. It's the past.

"It just upsets me," Charles says into Erik's chest. He sounds plaintive and very sad.

"I know." Erik nuzzles the top of Charles' head and squeezes tight. "I'm sorry."

"If I can't apologize, you can't either," Charles complains. He takes a deep breath and then sits up, catching Erik's hands when they slide off his body. He kisses the knuckles of each of them and, holding them to his chest, takes another deep breath. Then he opens his eyes and attempts a smile. When Erik doesn't react, he stops and sighs, leaning in to rub his cheek against Erik's. He doesn't let go of Erik's hands, just nuzzles Erik's face for a moment before bringing their foreheads together. "Thank you for telling me," he says quietly.

Erik doesn't know what to reply – he wanted to and at the same time didn't. He didn't really have to, not in the sense that external circumstances forced him, but he had been feeling like he should for a while – even before the topic had come up in current history class. He couldn't really explain it to himself; he had just wanted Charles to know.

Right now, he's not too sure it was such a good idea, at least not to do this right now. But even though he feels bad about Charles feeling bad, underneath that, he feels… relieved.

So in the end, all he says to Charles is, "I wanted to."

They sit quietly for a while, just breathing together, and Erik feels Charles calming down. Belatedly, he's astonished at how well Charles managed to keep himself in his head; Charles had once told him that he sometimes has problems keeping his barriers upright if he's in emotional distress or physical pain. As far as Erik can tell, though – and he can tell very well, somehow he always feels it when Charles meanders mentally and not just because it's usually at his own prompting – there had been absolutely no bleed-over.

"You held your shields well," he thus comments.

Charles sighs and nods. "I held on very tightly," he explains. "I didn't want to…" His hesitation makes Erik frown.

"Don't tell me you didn't want to intrude or _burden_ me." Charles has stupid ideas like that on occasion; Erik usually disabuses him of them quickly. He hates it when Charles has thoughts like that.

Now, Charles shrugs and sighs, making Erik clench his teeth. Seeing his expression, Charles hurries to explain, "I… am very upset and I don't like not being in control. I was pretty out of control just now."

Right. Charles doesn't like to live his emotions openly unless they're positive, especially not in front of people. He knew that; it's possible Erik isn't as calm as he had thought. "Right." He nudges Charles' face with his until Charles pulls back just enough for them to kiss. "I know. I'm sorry."

Charles nods and wraps his arms tightly around Erik's shoulders. They squeeze each other for a moment before pulling apart, and Charles isn't letting him in telepathically but Erik feels him calm down nevertheless. Charles still looks like he's been put through an emotional wringer – which he has been, in a way – but not like he's about to break into tears again any moment.

"Now." Erik takes a deep breath and nudges Charles' chin up, cups his face and kisses him again. "You should drink something, darling." Charles nods but instead of getting the water bottle himself, he waits for Erik to get it for him. After he's done drinking he hands the bottle back and curls into Erik's chest again, face leaning into his neck. Erik slowly runs his hands up and down his boyfriend's back; Charles is very passive in the way he gets when he's distressed, letting Erik bestow affection upon him, just blinking slowly. Erik remembers this from when the class had been shown the documentary of Liberation Day in current history, and from when after that bastard Kurt Marko had shown up at the school. It would bother Erik if he didn't know that it not at all means that Charles is submissive; he wouldn't let anyone bully him into anything, however unwittingly.

Eventually, Charles shifts a little, his eyelashes whispering against Erik's collarbone. "Can I… may I ask you something?"

Erik slides one hand up the back of Charles head, carding his fingers through his hair – he loves Charles' hair, and he's glad Charles doesn't mind if it ends up sticking out at odd angles because Erik got a little too enthusiastic about showing his appreciation.

"Of course, anything," he replies; he completely means it, even if he doesn't much like the thought of talking about it. But he is well-aware that he can't just leave Charles with the barest facts; it would drive his boyfriend insane. Charles has the tendency to fret and work himself up and Erik would never want to be the reason for that.

For a few moments Charles doesn't say anything, likely collecting his thoughts and, as Erik knows him, trying to find the most harmless question to ask. "How… how long were you there?"

"Twenty-three months." Liberation came just on time; Erik doesn't want to imagine what would have happened if his mother had given birth to the twins while still in captivity.

"Were you… alone?"

Only now that Charles asks that question does Erik realize that it's not that obvious that the whole Lehnsherr family had been in Genosha. Technically, they could have come just to support him – Erik had never even considered that. Now that he's thinking about it, he's caught up for a moment when he realizes just how much he would have preferred that – for his sisters and parents to be spared that. It doesn't bear thinking about how much things could have been different if Erik had been alone. "No," he answers belatedly, voice thick with the feelings that overcome him at his new revelation. "My whole family was there."

Charles is silent for a moment. "But your parents are human," he whispers.

"They produced two mutants," Erik says flatly. "It's in the textbook. One sentence." _Another, small group of internees in Genosha's restriction camps were primary relatives of Homo sapiens superior._ It's no less sickening what they did to them than what they did to mutants.

Charles stills. "You read the textbook?", he says after a moment. Erik sort of doubts that's really all that urgent a question of his, but he'll give Charles some more time to circle around his real questions.

"Of course I did," he says. "I had to make sure they weren't teaching you crap."

"The school knows, right?", Charles suddenly asks. "That's why you're doing independent study right now. You were good, but not so good Mrs. Skinner would have suggested it to you if you hadn't come to her first."

"It's in my record," Erik explains. "I could have it deleted, but I didn't want to." He's not going to erase what can't be erased, to pretend what happened didn't happen.

"Okay," Charles says after a brief pause. Then he sighs self-deprecatingly. "I'm still adjusting."

Erik knows what he means; it had taken him a long time too to get used to the fact that everyone knew rather more exactly than he'd like what it meant if they saw the barcode on his wrist. At the beginning, he hadn't covered it, and people, random people at the bus stop or in the grocery store would catch a glimpse of it and do a double take, stare at it and then his face, would look him all over as if looking for other signs. Starvation, maybe, experiments, as if they should be inked into his skin like that barcode – as if the sequence of lines and numbers weren't enough already, branded into him forever. The shocked pity in their faces when a "great tragedy" they had previously only been confronted with on TV suddenly became real to them was infuriating.

It had been why Erik had started to cover it up. He didn't like their faces, didn't like becoming a symbol for or representation of the whole atrocity that was Genosha. He is his own person.

"I understand." He curls up his fingers in Charles' hair. "My family wants me to tell you that you can talk to them about it too if you want to."

"Thank you." Charles curls more into Erik, his whole body tensing up again. His voice is shaky and Erik isn't surprised when he starts to sniffle again. Nevertheless, he's seriously starting to regret that he did this today; his timing really could have been better. But he had come fresh from the annual meeting, where he had talked to a couple of people and heard a variety of opinions on the matter. None of them had changed his – that he would have to tell Charles, that he _wanted_ to – but they had influenced the timing. He had been affected by the freedom of being among people who understood, no questions asked, by the sense of unity, the instant trust it generated. Of course there was also sadness, but it didn't reign, wasn't nearly as strong as the other feelings – anger, bitterness, yes, but also pride at having made it through, the quiet strength of having survived horror and not having let it bring one down. Erik had missed Charles this week-end – Charles can't understand, and Erik is grateful for that, but he just has to look at a person with his accepting, gentle expression and one already feels better. He would have enjoyed being there. Perhaps not directly – people's emotions sometimes still were a bit much for him – but Erik is sure he would have.

Or maybe he wouldn't have, he now thinks. Maybe Erik is selfish thinking that; maybe it would have been the completely wrong space for Charles. Erik wants him there, wants Charles to meet his friends and for his friends to meet Charles, but maybe that's selfish – maybe it wouldn't be good for Charles. That documentary had had a very bad effect on Charles, and Erik has no idea, but it stands to reason that the conference won't exactly be a walk in the park for a telepath with strong empathic senses.

He really shouldn't have done this now. It's Tuesday afternoon, Charles still has the rest of the week of school to go through, and part of that is current history just on this topic. Erik cringes at his own selfishness; he really hadn't thought this through. He should have waited at least until the week-end before telling Charles. It wouldn't have bothered Charles too much that he didn't know exactly what the Lehnsherrs had done in New York for a couple of days more.

He doesn't have much time to ponder on it, because suddenly he hears the sound of keys clinking together, and then of a key being inserted into a lock. Simultaneously he realizes two things: one, he completely lost track of time and considerably more of it has passed than he had thought, and two, he didn't just choose the wrong time for this but also the wrong place: they should have done this in Charles' room.

It's far too late now, of course. Charles tenses up briefly in his arms, and then he says, "I can't-" and then he catches himself immediately and restarts, "You don't have to tell them anything, it's okay."

But Erik knows what he meant to say the first time. Charles has a problem with secrets – not with other people's, neither keeping them nor them being kept from him; he has an incredible amount of respect for that. But he's near-incapable of keeping his own emotions secret, especially if it's something important.

So Erik stops him when Charles tries to pull away in an attempt to not look like he's a total wreck right now – it's too late anyway. While Erik knows that if he asked him, Charles would successfully keep Erik's secret from his family, Erik wouldn't do that to him. Charles won't miraculously be okay in an hour, or even in a day, and Erik wouldn't make him pretend he's fine in front of his family. Erik had known Charles' family would have to know as well when he tells Charles – it's part of why it took him so long to tell his boyfriend. It would have taken him much longer if the Xavier-Marko-Darkholme's really were the happy, perfect family Erik had thought they were at the beginning, but they had gone through some bad things, and it maybe doesn't make sense, but that makes it easier for him.

That's why Erik doesn't cover his wrist with metal again when Charles' brother and sister enter the house.

They went grocery shopping and are each carrying a bag with foodstuff, and Cain doesn't even detour into the living room, just makes a beeline for the kitchen, while Raven peeks into the room and sees them. "Come on, lovebirds!", she shouts. "It's not even been a full week, you can stop with the Edward/Bella routine now!" Then she makes a couple of steps into the room and pauses, immediately noticing that something is wrong. Maybe it's the slightly desperate tint to how tightly Erik and Charles are holding each other, or maybe it's the fact that Erik is fairly sure his eyes are red-rimmed, even though he didn't really cry, but most likely it's the fact that Charles doesn't react at all.

"Charles?" Raven asks, tentative.

"Not right now please," Charles replies, and the tears are audible in his voice.

Raven's eyes widen. "What happened?" she asks, putting her shopping bags down and hurrying over to them. Her hands reach for Charles, but hesitate before coming into contact with his back. "Is it Kurt? Did he come back?" She sounds scared.

"No," Erik says before Charles can make another attempt to pull away, to try and pretend he's alright just so Erik won't have to tell his family what's going on. "I told him where I really was this week-end."

Raven narrows her eyes at him. "Did you cheat on him?", she demands loudly.

Erik glares at her. "No!"

Fortunately, that's the moment where Sharon comes in from having parked the car. She takes the scene in with one look. "What's going on? Charles?"

"I'm okay," Charles sniffles. Then he amends, "I'll be okay."

"What did you mean?" Raven demands, turning to Erik again. "Where were you this week-end?" 

"What are you talking about?" Sharon asks, voice sharp. At the same time, Cain, finally noticing the commotion, comes into the living room as well and asks what's going on.

"Stop yelling at Erik!", Charles yells, effectively silencing everybody completely. Charles _never_ raises his voice.

In the silence, Erik cups the back of Charles head and tries to project calm, which is really rather difficult by this point; he doesn't really know how to do this. He never had to. Charles is the first person he told himself. "For the record, I didn't do anything," he informs them all.

"I know," Sharon replies. Then she claps into her hands and says resolutely, "Come on, Raven, let's put the groceries away."

Cain wordlessly turns around and vanishes back into the kitchen, where he already started; Raven, however, gapes at her mother. "But Charles is upset!" she protests.

"Charles is a big boy," Sharon tells her. "It's none of our business. Off you go now." Raven glares and opens her mouth as if to protest, but Sharon cuts her off with a firm, "Now." Sullen, Raven storms off into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

Sharon takes a deep breath and takes a couple of steps towards them. "Are you two alright?", she asks.

"Yeah," Erik says roughly. Sharon nods and makes as if to leave them alone; she isn't really the motherly type, which had at first confused Erik a little because his own mother is completely different, but he has since learned that that doesn't mean she cares less. In that moment, Erik realizes that this is his only chance. "Wait," he calls. Sharon stops and turns around, coming closer than before and taking a seat in an armchair.

"I, uh." Erik licks his lips. In his arms, Charles stirs, and Erik just knows that Charles is about to try to pull another martyr moment. Before he can either open his mouth or lift his head, Erik quickly says, "We were at the Genosha survivor conference."

Sharon's eyes widen, and her eyes fly to Erik's naked wrist. Wordlessly, Erik turns his arm around to show her the barcode, and she takes a sharp breath, covering her mouth with one hand. "You were thirteen," she says after a moment.

Erik just shrugs; there isn't much he can say to that. He by far hadn't been the youngest there, especially not if one counts the children born there. Charles lets out a muffled noise that could possibly be a sob, and Erik tightens his grip around him.

Silence reigns for a moment, though it's soon broken when Raven's voice rises in the kitchen. Naturally she couldn't just let it go, and it appears she's now arguing with Cain about it.

"You can tell her," Erik tells Sharon.

She looks at him sharply. "Are you sure? She doesn't have to know. She'll have to learn eventually."

"It's not… you're Charles' family." Erik doesn't know how else to put it. He's talked to his family about it, and they're okay with them knowing. Besides, it's not the sort of secret that's healthy to keep, his mother had said (though she does say that about all secrets).

After looking at him searchingly for a moment, Sharon nods. "Alright." Without another word, she gets up and leaves, closing the kitchen door behind her quietly.

"You didn't have to do that," Charles says quietly. He stopped crying some time ago, but seems unable to let go of Erik at all.

"I know," Erik replies. "I wanted to."

It's true.


End file.
